Tags
#adventure, #bucketlist, #california, #camp, #camping, #comfortzone, #goals, #hike, #hikerchick, #hiking, #lonepine, #Mountwhitney, #MtWhitney, #tent
A friend once mentioned to me that climbing Mt. Whitney was one of their dreams. I’d never heard of Mt. Whitney (the tallest peak in the contiguous U.S.), but it sounded like a challenge, so I added it to my own goal list. If they can do it, I can do it, right? I later learned that my friend could talk the talk in the dreams and goals department, but they were afraid to step outside of their comfort zone to achieve anything more than a life on autopilot. Living that way is not a theory to which I’ve ever subscribed.
A couple of months later, I sat in my office at one of my lowest lows after having made the final vet appointment for my little girl dog. An hour later, a friend texted that someone had dropped out of their Whitney group, and I was in if I wanted to go. It’s so odd how life can take us from such lows to such highs so quickly that I felt guilty for looking forward to something on my sweet dog’s last day.
My friend told me they were hiking up 3 miles, camping, hiking 3.5 miles, camping again, summiting, and heading out. Two nights of camping seemed a little excessive to this indoor gal, so I asked if they would consider staying in a hotel room the first night. Sold!
This left me with one night of camping. I’d grown up camping, and I’ve always hated it, and that was in an actual camper. After my true outdoor experience, I realize that my parents were pretty upscale in the camping department. Hauling stuff on my back, packing out my poo, and sleeping in a tent were never on my bucket list; but Mt. Whitney was, so I was going to have to suck it up for a night.
Not having equipment, I borrowed a backpack and bear container from a friend – and, no, that’s not to keep a bear in, it’s to keep a bear out of your stuff. Anything scented, like lip gloss, goes in it. I rented a tent, mattress pad, and sleeping bag. All I needed to pack was some food, clothing, deodorant, moisturizer, jammies, comfy pillow, and my stuffed whale, and I’d be all set, right? Noooo.
In the world of non-camper camping, you have to pack an unreal amount of things that you would usually find laying around your house, and then you have to fit them all into a backpack and bleeping haul it up a mountain. We’re talking silverware, a bowl, headlamp, pots and pans, five layers of clothes, clean socks, and clean underwear (I’m sorry, but I can’t do without clean underwear. Every girl has her limits.).
As I sit here the night before with a friend texting me all the things I forgot to pack and no space left in my huge backpack, I want to quit. I want to join the folks who leave at 2:30 a.m. and do it in one day. I feel like crying now, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be cold and crying myself to sleep Sunday night with my lip gloss and American Express Gold Card clutched tightly in my hand as a bear or Bigfoot snorts and paces outside my tent before tearing it open with one large, clawed paw or hand.
I don’t want to do this. I’m afraid, and it sounds like too much work to be fun. I’m one of those people who only appreciates bears from afar. I like lip gloss, warm beds, an artisan-style meal, flushing toilets, and hard walls around me when I sleep. I haven’t even left yet, and I want to go home.
Then I realized that, if I don’t suck it up and do this, I’ll be just like my friend who lives a life of comfort and excuses, never stepping outside of the box they’ve built around themself. Like my friend, I have a million excuses to stay home this holiday weekend and sunbathe or write, things I’m pretty comfortable with; or I can man-up and take a chance to try something that terrifies me. The thing is, it would be easy to stay here and live a safe life; however, if I do, I’ll always wonder what could have been. I’ll always wonder what I could have achieved and what memories I could have made and what stories I’d have to tell. Sunbathing does not make a very interesting story.
So, even though I’m physically shaking (maybe it’s from too much trail mix – did you know there’s candy in that stuff?), I’m going to dry my tears and take that step outside of my comfort zone. I’ll start by taking my stuffed whale out of my backpack and replacing it with WAG bags that are used to carry out human waste. Step two will be to pray for constipation.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of my adventure!
Leviathan, the third book in the Harbor Secret Series, is now available on audiobook! Woot!